


the evening ride

by kallistob



Series: Spilled Ink(tober) [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Graves blushes a lot tbh, Inappropriate Erections, Light Touches, M/M, Public Sex, Public Transportation, humping, touch starved Graves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 18:16:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12304875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/pseuds/kallistob
Summary: It is rush hour, the train is crowded, and this man touches him.





	the evening ride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Funkspiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Funkspiel/gifts).



> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ enjoy !
> 
> there wasn't even a prompt for this i just kind of  
> yissssssssss
> 
> i love inktober i wanna write all da things i wish i had more time sobs

Graves looks at the arriving subway train and bites his lips in worry. It is packed, people stashed together and pressed against each other in the most uncomfortable ways due to an electricity failure on the line, which caused some “unfortunate delays” during rush hour, as they learned while waiting.

If it were up to him he would make the better choice of going back outside and walk all the way to his house, or take a cab. But the weather is shit, cold pouring rain, and as for the cab the end of the month is near, and he’s short on money. So he clutches his briefcase, squares his shoulders and once people are done getting off the train, he does his best to get squeezed into the carriage with others.

There are tired strangers caging him in on all sides. Graves is glad he had the sense of mind to remove his coat before going in, but still - the atmosphere feels too hot, stifling, tense. He looks up at the metro line despite knowing it by heart, and gets the same usual confirmation that his stop isn’t for another twenty minutes.

The train stops again. People bump into him on their way out, and he tries to find a place as impossibly more and more people get on the train. There’s a blond man looking at his phone in one corner, leaning against the closed carriage door at his back, and a bit more space in front of him. Graves gets pushed there, which suits him - but as he reaches out to grab the handle a bit further from him, three more people run inside the train at the last minute, ignoring others’ cries of protests. Any hopes Graves had of holding onto something for the duration of the ride is forgotten. He stumbles backwards until he is  falling against against the blond man he noticed earlier, and he murmurs a quick apology as he looks above his shoulder and manages to straighten up. The stranger nods at him, offering a small smile as he pockets his phone. As the metro twists and turns, Graves loses his balance and gets thrown against the stranger again, more than once. His lips pour out a constant stream of stuttered apologies, and his blush doesn't fade.

“No harm done,” the stranger reassures him, whispering in his ear so as to be heard over the brakes as the train comes to another halt. It makes Graves shiver to have a man this close. “Stop apologizing when you can’t help it.”

“I’m sorry,” Graves still says, embarrassed. He groans in disbelief at the amount of people on the platform as the train doors slide open, and the stranger behind him chuckles.

“ _Komm schon_ ,” he says, and his hand settles on Percival’s hip as he draws him closer. “Steady. I’ll hold you, alright?”

Percival doesn’t dare look at the man. His hand is burning Graves’ skin through his clothes, making him acutely aware of exactly how close the two of them are. The fact that he finds the stranger to be peculiarly attractive doesn’t help. Graves thinks he looks dangerous in the most thrilling of way, what with his sharp suit and mismatched eyes. He looks down. There is a scar running from the man’s ring finger and disappearing under his sleeve, but his nails are kept short and clean. He wonders what the man does for a living.

The train brakes suddenly, squealing, causing Percival to fall against the man once more, his back pressing against the man’s chest, the man’s hand sliding to his stomach to hold him still.

“Uuh --” he says eloquently. He makes a move to straighten up, shifts, and hears a grunt behind him. “God, I’m sorry. I just keep crushing you.”

The stranger laughs. He helps Percival into a standing position but the two of them are still snug against each other, and after a moment of uncertainty Percival feels the man’s hand settle over his hip again, which makes his heart race. It’s been a while since he had any kind of human contact, a while since he’s been - intimate, with someone. And he craves it. Cheeks burning but unable to help himself, he leans into the stranger’s touch, into the presence at his back, into the warmth and comfort this man provides. A couple of people get off at the next stop and although Graves has a bit more room to breathe, he does not move or try to get away from the stranger.

He does the opposite, in fact, hoping his gesture will not be unwelcome, and takes a step back. He meets the man's eyes in the window opposite them and averts his gaze. The stranger squeezes his hip in response, but he does not push him away. It makes Graves’ heart sing in contentment, and he lets out a sigh of relief.

He doesn’t know how the stranger feels. He wonders if he is liking the situation as much as Graves is. Probably not - it must feel uncomfortable for him to have a complete stranger cling to him like this.

Graves wonders what else he could get away with. It is hard not to think about _that_ , when his ass is touching the stranger’s crotch, and the dirty thoughts invading his mind make him squirm. If he was attracted to Graves, the man could easily take advantage of their position. No one would see it if he were to start touching him, to grope Graves’ ass through his pants, to murmur filthy things in his ear. The sound of his voice would be covered by the rumble of the train, and his long coat would hide his movements.

Graves bites his lips, clears his throat; his stop is not so far now. He hopes people think the rosy pink of his cheeks is due to the heat in the carriage. He wonders if he should say something to the stranger. Perhaps a joke about the situation they’re in. Perhaps he should apologize. Perhaps he should ask for the man's number --

He hears the man murmur something under his breath, and then he feels it.

A light, barely noticeable touch against his ass. When he freezes, the hand becomes more daring. His brain goes blank. Graves feels himself tremble, just a little, not knowing how to react. He looks up in the window to meet the man’s eyes again, and the stranger smiles at him innocently, as if he wasn’t digging his fingers in Graves’ ass, feeling him through his clothes. His other hand remains on Graves’ hip, and Graves does not know what to do. There’s fantasy, and there’s reality, and he didn’t think -- he never imagined --

But this is happening, it’s real, and he swallows when the stranger grabs a handful of his ass and squeezes. The big, warm hand remains there, cupping him, and Graves tries his best to remember breathing. His face is aflame, and he wonders if anyone notices how close they are, how the man is touching him, but no one is looking at them, and no one says anything. He brings his hand up to rest over the man’s hand at his hip, and stills.

“Do you want me to stop?” The man murmurs lowly, so close, lips brushing the shell of Graves’ ear so that Graves, and only Graves, can hear him. “I can.”

His hand is now massaging Graves’ ass, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the fabric. His touch burns through Graves, the most intimate thing anyone has done for him in months, and he finds he doesn’t want it to stop. Slowly, he gives a negative shake of the head, and hears the stranger laugh. “Attaboy.”

His stop is five stations away, but Graves prays it never comes. Not when the man’s hand leaves the cradle of his hip to join the other on his ass. Not when more people get on the train at the next stop, causing the both of them to be completely flush together, their bodies locked in a tight embrace. Graves keeps his coat folded under his arms and in front of him to hide his obvious arousal, and closes his eyes as if in exhaustion.

It only makes him more aware of the man, who is touching him as intently as if Graves were laying on a bed, exposed, and he had all the time in the world to explore his naked body.

He starts slowly. The man slips his hands inside Graves’ back pockets, and lets them rest here. Every little movement he makes like this has Graves moving with his whims, swaying backwards as the man tugs, and his face is aflame with humiliation. He does not stop the man.

“You're being good for me, aren't you? So good,” the man breathes in his ear. Percival nods shyly. The man’s hands go up, slipping beneath the hem of Graves’ vest and then underneath the waistband of his pants, teasing. Graves makes a small sound in his throat, his heart racing in his chest. He tilts his head to the side, baring his neck, and hears the stranger hum in approval.

There’s the noticeable push of an erection starting to press against Percival’s backside, and it makes him shiver. He feels too hot, all over, ashamed and _wanting_. He fears someone will see what he is up to, what he’s letting a stranger do to him, but knowing that someone could see and understand only makes a stab of lust lance through him.

The stranger’s hands move up again to slowly untuck Graves’ shirt from his pants. He rubs circles against Graves’ naked skin and sighs, his bulge pressing against Percival’s buttocks. Then he starts to move, almost imperceptibly slow, thrusting against Percival’s ass, fingers digging into Graves’ hips, fingernails no doubt leaving red little crescents in the soft skin. Each thrust makes Graves shiver, makes his cock swell, and he’s grateful for the coat he keeps in front of him. The stranger rolls his hips harder, seeking friction, and Percival moans softly, unable to help it. He's letting a stranger use him and hump him in a train full of strangers, and it shouldn't turn him on as much as it does.

But his station is only two stops away, and he wants to warn the man. He wants more. He wants everything. So he turns around, and immediately the man’s hands leave him, respectful of his boundaries. Percival looks up at him. The man’s eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and as they stare at each other he licks his lips slowly, as if Graves is a treat he’d been coveting for a long time. Percival swallows.

“I have to leave at the next stop,” Percival tells him quietly, and the stranger looks disappointed. Percival understands him. “Do you, hm, want to come with me?”

“Come with you?” The man repeats, sounding faintly surprised. He has an accent Graves can’t place, and a deep, smooth voice, like muffled thunder. Percival nods weakly.

“Please?”  

The stranger seems to consider him, looking unsure, almost shy despite what he’d unabashedly done to Graves minutes prior. Emboldened, Percival steps forward, grabbing the man’s hand, uncaring if anyone sees them. He guides it down, down to where he’s still hard and hot, and the stranger responds, taking a sharp intake of breath before _cupping_ Graves through his pants.

“Please,” Graves whispers roughly as the stranger moves his hand. The pressure is bliss, and Percival can hardly concentrate enough to speak. “Need you.”

“ _Scheiße,_ darling. Yes.”

Percival smiles wickedly at him, relieved. When the train halts he stills holds the stranger’s hand to guide him out, onto the crowded platform. The man follows dutifully, amused by his eagerness.

“You sure about this?” The strangers asks him, even as they’re climbing up the stairs of the station to go outside. It is still drizzling. Percival puts his coat on to cover himself, and slips his hood on. His erection has flagged, but he still feels pleasantly excited and warm as he looks at the stranger, who is staring at him expectantly.

“Yeah,” he says. “Fuck, yes. I am if you are. What’s your name?”

The stranger smiles, reaching a hand out. “I'm Gellert.”

“Gellert.” Percival likes the name. “I’m Percival. Percival Graves.”

Gellert’s hand is big and rough, scarred and strong as Percival shakes it. The touch sends renewed little starbursts of pleasure tingling up his spine, and he finds himself smiling stupidly. “Gellert, we have a choice. We can grab coffee, or we can go back to my shitty place immediately.”

“We could go back to mine,” Gellert suggests, matter-of-factly. “I have a bed.”

“Do you?” Percival’s smile widens.

“A huge bed,” Gellert teases, crow feet deepening at the corners of his eyes as he returns Percival’s smile. “A four poster bed, in fact, complete with silk sheets. I can even light up a few candles if you want. Treat you like you deserve.”

Percival snickers. “Now you’re pulling my leg.”

“ _Ja._ Maybe I don't have silk sheets. It is still a nice bed.”

Percival shakes his head. This whole thing is the most thrilling event to happen to him in a long while. Tonight, he wants to follow this man wherever he goes, damn the consequences. “Lead the way, then, Gellert.”

“Please,” Grindelwald says, draping his arm across Percival’s shoulder as they start making their way down the street. “Tell me about you, Percival Graves.”

**Author's Note:**

> pls leave a comment if you liked it i'm a tired college student with no time to spare and feedback is my only reward, thanks, i love you *snuggles*


End file.
